


The Lesser (We)Evil

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angel Castiel, Demon Dean, M/M, Other, Reaper Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 18:51:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8338825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dean Winchester hasn't been a demon for long and to be honest, he doesn't really dig the stunt. Long work hours, a constant stream of ego-inflated hunters and celestials trying to stab and/or exorcise you and, really, who wants to live forever, right? At least he still has his fries. But because he can't have nice things even the whole eternity of mindless servitude shebang doesn't last nearly as long as promised and Dean, sans fries and now instead armed with a ragtag group of people he can't seem to get rid of, finds himself caught in the middle between Heaven and Hell - capitalization and all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have absolutely no idea if I'll be able to update this regularly(/at all since) Real Life is doing its best to stab and/or exorcise me too. This is gonna be one hell - hurr hurr - of a ride though.

**_“A good man, in his darkest yearning,_**  
**_Is still aware of virtue’s ways.”_**

**\- God**

( _Goethe's Faust I, V. 326-327_ )

 

There's a certain rhythm to human life. It's not really something you notice as a human unless you actually invest time in studying it, which no one ever does because your clock is ticking away and you focus on life instead, but once you've spent some time as a... well, not human it becomes rather obvious.  
Humans prefer routine. They've wanted the same things since they emerged as a species and they've been sold the same things since demons emerged as merchants to give it to them. If you ask Dean, his "merchandise" is no worse than any shifty human interaction. Hey, _he's_ not forcing anyone to buy his deals. People come to him voluntarily. Often he’s the one who ends up cornered into a Devil’s trap when making the deals. Go figure.

His current customer is some high-end banker, about as far from being a poor soul as humanly possible. He wonders if Crowley will even accept the deal since Dean is pretty sure this guy is about as demonic as a human can be but he decides not to look a gift horse in the mouth.  
As usual his carefully placed sentences hit just the right places. He doesn’t need to humanize himself with this one, they both know that there’s not much holding this guy back in the first place. It’s easiest to just make it seem like rotting in hell for a few decades is worth being powerful in life and then eventually turning into a demon, and considering how much this one wants raw power Dean is pretty sure the supposedly bad part of the deal isn’t much of a turn-off for him either.

He’s about to wrap up this deal up too when both he and his customer are thrown back   through the air several yards by a sudden blinding light. It’s far from the first time this has happened to Dean in the middle of a deal and he really wishes they’d finally target the guy – demon, okay, whatever – responsible instead of him. Talk about killing the messenger. He just makes the deals, he doesn’t get to keep them.  
Recently one specific celestial nightmare has been focusing on him, trying to off him every chance it gets and, surprise, surprise, when Dean turns around he sees its sneering faces – both that of the vessel and that of its true form – staring down at him.

“Mr. Winchester. We meet again. Though I cannot claim it’s a pleasure.”

Dean swallows down a sigh, turns around and gives it his best infuriating smirk. “Gimme a break… Hi, Zach! Where’s Cody?”

Zachariah scoffs at him, patience already worn out. “You should know better than to talk back at your superiors, demon.”

_He’s got a point there, you know_ , his flight instincts scream at him, sounding annoyingly much like Sam. _Shut up,_ he tells them, _if I go out I’ll go out with a bang._

“Yeah, no. How ‘bout I give you this innocent soul here,” he counters, roughly pushing his former victim-to-be forward into Zach’s startled entourage, “and we call it a day?”

His generous offer falls on deaf ears, though, and he barely has enough time to duck Zach’s attempt to smite him – the glowy eyes always give it away. He backs away behind some sort of metal structure before Zach’s equally shiny henchmen get the chance to grab him. Only problem is that he has no effective weapon to kill any of them and they know it. They rush forward, lunging towards him like fluorescent hellhounds sent by Hades personally and he just so manages to avoid their blades. For such stuck-up creatures they are _fast._

“Relax, guys,” he calls out, “no one’s gotta get hu- _whoa!_ Man, watch it, you almost took my eye out!”

The angel in question only looks at him sternly. Dean decides he needs to get out of here ASAP. He can handle his own in a fair fight, he can even take on bigger baddies than himself and come out on top more or less intact, but taking on four angels is madness even beyond his capabilities.

Knowing angels they wouldn’t follow him into Hell itself though, and even though he’ll have to face a no lees mad King of Hell he does know how to pick his battles, so when they charge at him again, blades drawn and ready to stab he quickly teleports back down under.

Dean finds himself switched into his true form waiting in line, the number 47496 in his left hand and a clear view of the stairs leading up to the closed doors to the Throne Room.

“Ah, home sweet home.”

Predictably, no one reacts. The sign above the door switches to 47450.

Two hours the doors swing open again, the sign declaring that it’s his turn now. Begrudgingly he drags himself up the seemingly endless stairs. His hooves click on the dull, gray concrete, his torn robes and scaly tail dragging behind him, nearly getting caught in the big double doors when they close again.

“Squirrel. So nice to see you,” Crowley drawls before him and Dean asks himself if this day can get any worse if it tries. “I see you return to me empty handed. Again.”

“Yeah… I think you might’ve pissed someone off upstairs. Zack paid me a visit before I could wrap it up,” Dean bites back, licking his teeth, “Again.”

Crowley sighs dramatically and hefts his stocky body into his chair, sorting through piles of parchments neatly arranged on his desk.

“No need to get your panties in a twist,” he retorts, his rat-like face twisting into a smug, knowing smile.

Dean holds back a growl and drags the long claws of his left hand over the ground instead, leaving a few deep marks as a testament of how funny he finds that particular joke. Crowley stares disapprovingly. Mission accomplished.

“Bad day, I see. I want something else from you anyway. This time you can’t fuck it up, though,” he says warningly.

_Just you wait and see_ , Dean broods, but keeps his mouth shut for now. The rack is gone now, sure, but that doesn’t mean the line is much better and despite most people’s claims he doesn’t _actually_ have a death wish.

“In short, I want you to catch me a bee,” Crowley drones on, pausing dramatically. _That’s it_ , Dean concludes, _he’s officially gone batshit insane._ “Of the heavenly hive.”

“You - _What?_ That’s… bullshit!” Dean erupts, momentarily forgetting he’s speaking to the King of Hell. “I thought you wanted me ‘for my special set of skills’? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, sending me on a suicide mission is kind of counterproductive to that goal.”

Crowley’s eyes narrow. “If you’d let me finish, Squirrel,” he admonishes coldly, “I would have told you that, as always, I have a well thought through plan and will of course not be sending you straight into your own doom.” He goes back to sifting through his parchments. “Recently our agents have intercepted reports of peculiar activities. Heaven is retrieving artifacts, searching for Prophets, strengthening their forces. In short, they are preparing for war.”

“So, what? They just decide to march into Hell and that’s it?”

“No, Dean, nothing of the sort. They are meaning to unleash Lucifer from his cage and obliterate all life as we know it.”

“Well, that… that works too, I guess,” Dean grumbles sarcastically. His tail twitches uncomfortably. “Isn’t that kind of the… opposite of what they’re supposed to do?”

“I don’t care for their job descriptions very much, Dean. Just catch me one, yeah?”

And with that Dean is dismissed.

Catch an angel. Right. If he survives this he’ll personally exorcize Crowley.


End file.
